


strangers when we meet

by cakecakecake



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ectobiology, F/M, Female Reader, Love Motel, Multi, Prostitution, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Sans (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Secret Admirer, Secret Crush, Selectively Mute Frisk (Undertale), Sex Work, Sexting, Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 10:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: with the passing of their parents, you've gained legal custody of your little cousin, frisk. with the help of their friend toriel, you've been living in a quaint apartment down the street from her, and she watches frisk for you when you work nights. she knows you work at a motel, but she doesn't know what kind - and when you start looking for a better job to support your family, you need to enlist the help of someone who might uncover your secret.





	strangers when we meet

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again at the bone zone

You wake up to your cousin shaking you in an anxious fit. The digital clock on your night dresser is glowing and you groan looking at the ungodly hour of the night. You jerk upright, brushing them off of you.

“Frisk, why are you in here? It’s almost four in the morning.”

_You were yelling in your sleep,_ they signed at you, frowning worriedly. _You had another nightmare, didn’t you?_

You rub your eyes and sigh sadly, pulling them in for a hug. "Sorry buddy...I must've scared you, huh?'

They bury their face in your shoulder and grip you tight, like you'll run away if they don't. You give them a squeeze before pulling away to brush the hair from their face.

"It's just a bad dream. I'm fine."

"No you're not," they croak out very quietly, as if to be sure you're the only one who hears them. "I know you still think it's your fault, and that's why you still have them."

You curl your brows, forehead creasing as you shudder in a breath. They're right, you know they are, but. But. You hold their hands, clammy palms resting on their fingers.

"Hey...I know I got issues," you admit with a chortle, "but it's alright. I'm tough. I'm related to _you_ , remember?"

Frisk huffs out a hollow laugh and nods vigorously. 

"Come on, let's get you back to bed."

You stay with them in their room, talk to them until they fall back asleep. Knowing you won't be doing the same anytime soon, you head down the hallway, grab a glass of water. You think of the accident, of your aunt and uncle's untimely departure. How cruel it was that they were taken from their child so soon after finally being reunited with them. How much Frisk had been through to get back home to them, only to lose them again with no chance of getting them back. You think of how hard it's been for them, and how hard it's been for you, and how guilty you feel for it. Of how hiding that guilt has been even harder. You're not as strong as you try to convince them you are.

You remember losing your own parents -- an accident, long ago. You were young like Frisk. Their parents took care of you until you were old enough to stand on your own two feet, and now thanks to some unfortunate turn in the grand wheel of karmic bullshit, they're gone too. You hope they'd be proud of you if they could see you now -- or maybe they'd think this was a bad idea. "You're too young to be taking care of a child all on your own!", "Maybe if you had a partner", and "we're just worried about you" are all anyone else ever has to say about it. It's not like you want a medal or something -- you didn't take in Frisk to prove anything, you just wanted to help, to return the love that was shown to you -- but no one sees it like that. Doubt and pity is all you get. Nobody really believes you can do this, let alone do it well, but nobody else wanted to carry this weight. You heave out a painful groan. 

At least Frisk believes in you, you remind yourself -- that's all you really need, anyway. You drag yourself back to bed and resolve to make tomorrow better.

*

A phone call wakes you up. You yawn into a smile - it's Toriel.

"Good morning my dear," she hums on the other end. "School is canceled -- it's a snow day! Would you and Frisk like to join me for breakfast?"

You grin, stretching upright in bed. "I'd love to."

"Wonderful!"

Toriel, the former Queen of monsters, is now a teacher who lives down the street. You'd met her a few months ago, when you'd first moved into your complex. A giant, tender beast of a woman, like a furry goat-dragon with her little horns and elongated snout. You'd often wondered if a set of wings is tucked under those robes she likes to wear. Every time she hugs you she makes it feel like it's the last time she'll ever get to do so, and she calls you child even though you're much closer to thirty than you'd like to admit. You love her. 

She waits until after you've eaten to ask. "So, how's work, really?" She pours you a second cup of coffee and takes your finished plate. You shift uncomfortably, telling Frisk to go cozy up by the fire and they scuttle off with their sketchbook.

"It's -- you know, it's work," you tell her sheepishly. "It's been fine, but you know, with the weather and all, business is so slow..."

"You are there so late some nights," she says softly, concerned. "You look so tired all the time my dear. Are you sure another job is really a good idea?"

"If I get this position, I can switch to part-time over there," you explain. "I can get on a better schedule, get paid more -- if I'm really lucky and they hire me right on for manager, I could leave -- and you won't have to watch Frisk as much -- "

"Oh, my dearest, you know that's never a problem for me," she assures you gently. "It is my pleasure to take care of them! I am only worried about your health. Juggling two jobs is difficult." 

You watch Frisk, snuggled up with one of the snowy pomeranians in the living room, sketchbook knocked away from their hands. They're murmuring nonsense and giving it kisses and you sigh helplessly. "I just wanna be able to do better for them, Ma."

"You do so well already, sweetling." Toriel lays a big paw on your hand from across the table -- she's so warm. You smile weakly.

"My interview's Saturday morning," you start to say. "Do you think you could watch them?"

"Oh, I wish I could my dear, but we've got a conference," she says worriedly. "I'm afraid it can't be rescheduled..." 

Ah. Shit. You try not to look worried about it. "Oh, then, um -- that's okay, it'll only be a couple hours, they should be okay by themselves -- "

"On second thought," she chirps thoughtfully. "I do know of someone who might be free."

You purse your lips, wondering. "Like who?"

You know of a few of Frisk's friends from the Underground -- Asgore (Toriel's maybe-no-longer-ex-husband), Alphys (the former-Royal-scientist-now-robot-manufacturer), Undyne (the former-Royal-General-now-gym-teacher), Papyrus (an aspiring-chef-slash-life-coach) -- but you hadn't met any of them before. They're all scattered around different parts of Ebott City, busy with their new lives on the surface. Even Frisk doesn't get to see them very often and whenever they do, you're working. 

"Papyrus?" You say the first name that comes to mind.

"No, his brother," Toriel says, grinning like she can't help herself. "You remember us talking about him, do you not?"

"His brother," you wrack your brain, you know Frisk has definitely talked about him before -- "Wait, Sans?"

"Indeed," she tells you, pulling out her phone. "I think he would be a good person to ask. Here, let me give you his number."

You let her plug his number into your phone and thank her for her help, hugging her goodbye before giving Frisk a passing peck on the forehead on your way out. Once you get to your bus stop, you stare at the new name in your contacts. You chew on your lip, figuring you'll text him on your way home later tonight, wondering what he's like. Toriel was smiling a lot talking about him. If his brother's a chef, you probably won't have to worry about Frisk going hungry while you're out, at least. You're feeling hopeful.

*

When you'd first met Toriel, you'd told her you worked evenings at a motel the next city over. It's about an hour by bus, and it's a little scary coming back home sometimes late at night, but other than that, it's totally comfortable. You do what anyone would expect someone working at a motel to do: housekeeping, front desk attendance, customer assistance -- she just doesn't know about all the extra "services" you provide there. She doesn't know what kind of motel it is.

It started out on the Internet (as most things do). Shortly after the resurfacing of monsterkind, websites for the very sexually curious started popping up. "Monster-fucking" was a newly advertised fetish, but not many companies were catering to them. Monsters were hard-pressed in the beginning to find a safe space to explore intimacy with humans, but then Madam Mostro offered security and discretion with membership through her network. Lonely and fascinated by your city's new inhabitants, you registered to become one of her models. After enough success, Madam bought a property on the edge of Golden Flower Hills, opened it as a love motel, and the rest is a humble history. 

The pay is a bit too unpredictable to support both you and Frisk now, but you enjoy it a lot here. Your coworkers are friendly and supportive, and Madam is sweet -- fucking eccentric, but very sweet. Everyone working there goes by a nickname (both for fun and for privacy reasons, to protect you and your clients), and everyone gets to keep their own room, complete with bed, wardrobe, entertainment, and a computer for all your online services (web chatting, video streaming, etc.). It's fun, comfortable, exciting -- you just wish you'd get more visitors. 

There's two things you learned when you started working here:  
1\. Monsters are very kind, gentle lovers.  
2\. Monsters are also very, very shy.

You remember the first monster to have actually spent the night there -- he booked a stay with your coworker Candy, and he used his real name: Grillby. You don't think you could forget her recount of their session if you tried. 

“He came into my room and my first thought was, ‘oh shit, he’s gonna kill me.’ Like, actually gonna kill me -- the dude was made of FIRE. Like literal FIRE. It was terrifying! I had half a mind to give him the money back and politely ask him to leave. I was this close — but then I looked in his eyes. He took off his glasses for me, and I like, really looked. And okay, this sounds so cheesy, but I just knew I'd be safe. I just knew I could trust him. He told me he would go slow, and if I wanted to stop, he would stop. He was really sweet about it! All he really did was tie me up and spank me. I have a couple second degree burns on my ass, but hey, that might have been the most fun I ever had!” 

The jealousy started eating at you then. Your coworkers' clients started booking regular sessions -- a couple of them even started dating their regular patrons and left. You'd had one or two pay for a night with you, but it was nothing exciting -- one evening, a very large dog just wanted to play and lay in your lap for a few hours, and another night, a very curious, very tiny sentient volcano just wanted to be your space heater and talk to you all night. Both very sweet instances, of course, and you basically got paid to do absolutely nothing, but still. You'd sought this out because you're curious, and you just keep meeting with disappointment. A lot of the girls are envious, telling you how lucky you are that all you do all night is chat on the web, but you wish you could experience some real, actual excitement, even just once. You slip into your lace and silk and clock in and try not to feel like your time is running out.

You boot up your computer and ready yourself for a (likely) uneventful night.

It's Wednesday and none of your regulars are online. **CoolDude95** (a skeleton, he's told you he is, with some kind of spaghetti...kink? Fixation? You don't really know what's really going on there, but he likes spaghetti a _lot_ ) did leave a private message, regarding the photoset he bought the other night:

_* THANK YOU FOR THE PHOTOGRAPHS, BABYDOLL!! I HOPE THE SPAGHETTI WAS DELICIOUS._

**KissyCutieFan** is also offline, but she's left you a few messages too:

_* thank you so much for the recommendation, babydoll! my gf definitely liked the 10-inch better lol!!_

_* hi baby!! um! when you get a chance, can you,,,,quote me again for that photoset we talked about? i um,,,have the costume ready for you,,,,_

Your last few messages are from **spookblook** :

_* hi babydoll.....um....._

_* if you're interested.....i'd like to see you dance sometime......_

You smile, messaging all of them back, wishing even one of them would ask about booking a stay. You're still getting paid, you shouldn't care, but you can't help but wish. They love to flirt and play around, but they're so shy -- they need advice for their real relationships, want to know how to please their actual partners. They want to feel desirable and appealing, or they have certain interests that they can't share with people they know. That's how you help, that's what you get paid to do. You satisfy their curiosities and needs -- none of which happen to involve fucking you for real. None of them seem interested in actually having sex with you -- except for one.

There's one monster who pays for private sessions with you almost every night. Just web chats, no video or even pictures -- the guy just really likes talking to you. Talking dirty, of course, but nothing too wild. He's flirtatious and magnetic and you like how filthy he sounds. He's a little kinky; likes the idea of tying you up and gagging you and throwing you around. You wonder how strong he must be, what kinds of magic he can wield. You don't think he's forward enough to actually ever want to use it on you, though, and it's ridiculous how much the idea torments you.

You shouldn't be so crushed about it -- Madam warned you in the beginning about this. It's in your best interests not to get attached. There are lines you shouldn't cross in this line of work; if you get too emotional, you start feeling guilty, they start feeling entitled. It's a disaster once feelings get involved, it's how you get taken advantage of in this business. The clients know what they're doing -- they're paying for a service. If they wanted a real connection, they'd go out and date somebody, not pay a hooker to fabricate whatever it is that they think they're missing. All you do is fill in a gap with something temporary until they can move on and get whatever they need. You're a substitute, a toy, a whore. You're a service provider, nothing more.

It's not like you even know much about the guy, anyway -- not his real name, or what kind of work he does to be able to afford paying you so often. He's never even mentioned what kind of monster he is. You only know that he's about your age, and that he lives somewhere in Ebott City with his family. He likes bad jokes and ketchup straight from the bottle and he knows so much about human pop culture that it would be almost alarming had you actually thought about it. He's charming and sweet and you shouldn't have a crush on him, but you do. You can lie to yourself all you want to make your job easier, to keep yourself safe, but the truth is there. You get tingly and giddy every time he pops up in your inbox -- like now. 

_serif: knock knock_

_babydoll: who's there? ;)_

__

__

_serif: etch_

__

__

_babydoll: etch who_

_serif: damn you gettin a cold? bless u_

You laugh out loud. You type back to him.

_babydoll: lol :D how are you tonight, serif?_

__

_serif: just dandy, baby_

_serif: thanks for the other night_

_serif: still thinkin about it, tbh_

You curl a strand of hair around your finger, grinning.

_babydoll: oh yeah?_

__

_serif: oh yeah._

_serif: sweetheart you have no idea how hot you are_

Geez. It's stupid, feeling flustered, but you fiddle as you type back to him, hands shaking just a little bit.

_babydoll: i'm happy to be of service._

__

_serif: i feel like i'm the one at your service_

You hover over the keyboard, feeling a knot in your throat. Those are some dangerous words there, but you have to be professional -- you try to think of something safe to type back, but he sends another message.

_serif: you keep me coming back to ya, over and over again. i get kinda bummed when i can't talk to u_

_serif: hehehe. that's kinda pathetic, huh_

From an outside perspective, a lonely monster pining for some human whore does sound pretty pathetic -- but when you're the human whore with the suffocating crush on the lonely monster, it sounds ridiculously sweet. Makes you like him even more. But again, you have to be professional. You have to.

_babydoll: oh, no, i don't think it is at all, babe. i love talking to you!_

__

_serif: hehehe. of course you do, sweetheart._

You frown, knowing he likely doesn't believe you. He's not dumb, he knows you're paid to say these kinds of things to him, but you can't tell him that it's true. Professional.

_babydoll: so what can i do for you tonite, babe?_

It takes a moment for him to answer, the speech bubble in the chat hovering as he types. You chew on your lip, caught between anxiety and arousal -- he doesn't usually hesitate like this, it's kind of cute. You lean in and wait for his message to come through. 

_serif: i wanna see you_

Oh.

You fidget in your chair, heat bubbling in your chest as you remind yourself not to jump the shark.

_babydoll: you wanna see me?_

The incoming payment alert rings with a pop-up. It's a photo request.

_babydoll: what um_

__

__

_babydoll: what do you want to see?_

__

_serif: you don't have to show me everything yet, but_

_serif: show me your body. neck down_

__

_babydoll: do you want me naked?_

__

__

_serif: just as you are right now_

You position your webcam and stand, timing a screen shot as you pose in your silky night clothes. You sit back down after the picture snaps, picking at your fingers as you wait for a response.

_serif: hehehe. damn kid._

__

_babydoll: i hope i haven't disappointed you!_

You laugh at yourself, knowing there's no way anyone could look at you and actually feel an ounce of disappointment, but you like to tease. 

_serif: oh kid, you're better than i imagined_

_serif: you look so soft, so alive_

_serif: i've never wanted to touch something so badly_

Well shit. You feel childish blush creep across your cheeks as you keep playing professional.

_babydoll: do you...want to see more?_

Another payment notification pops up. 

_serif: take your clothes off._

_babydoll: still just neck-down?_

_serif: yeah._

You do as you're told. (He likes that.) You slip off your button-up and kick off the shorts, just in your lacy brassiere and panties. You set your timer again, pose, and settle back down to send the screen shot. He takes a good minute to type anything back to you.

_serif: jesus, kid._

The jingle of another payment notification. " _serif has left you a tip_!" You giggle like a teenager. 

_serif: you're gorgeous. you sure you're a human? cuz you look more like an angel to me_

__

_babydoll: lol :) you're so sweet._

__

__

_serif: :)_

__

__

serif: wish i could stick around for more, but i've gotta get back to work

_serif: i'll catch you next time, sweetheart_

_babydoll: have a good night, babe ;)_

_serif: i will with these pics ;)_

_serif has left the room._

You heave out a sigh, opening your public chatroom and you stay there for another hour, entertaining the guests that pop in and out until you're sure nobody's going to bite for a private chat. You get dressed and do some housekeeping, offering to help Madam at the front desk, and she sends you home at about eleven. You wait for the bus and take a seat near the back like usual, fiddling on your phone, remembering that shit, you almost forgot to ask Sans if he could babysit. You feel a little nervous, hoping you're not bothering him too late, but you send him a message.

_hi, sorry to text so late, but is this sans?_

You get a reply almost instantly.

_maybe_

_who's this_

_sorry, i'm frisk's cousin, toriel gave me your number_

_so you're the kid's guardian, huh? what's up?_

_i actually have a favor to ask, if it's okay_

_well since you're friends with the old lady, i guess i can help you out_

_just as long as it's not labor-intensive ;)_

You giggle a little bit. Something about the way he types feels strangely familiar, but you push the thought from your head.

_i have an interview on saturday morning and toriel can't stay with frisk while i'm gone, could you possibly hang out with them for a few hours? i don't have a lot to offer but i can pay you for your troubles_

_saturday morning, huh? that's cutting into my cartoons, kid_

You feel a little silly giggling at your phone at the back of the bus, but you can't help it -- it's kind of cute. And really familiar. But cute.

_please?_

_well, since you asked so nicely_

_we can figure out compensation later_

_you got a temporary babysitter, kid_

A fresh breath of relief escapes you.

_omg thank you so much. you have no idea how much this helps me out_

_hehehe. no problem. tell frisk i said hi_

Fuckin' score. You lean against the window and grin to yourself -- that's one headache taken care of. You scroll back through the texts you just sent, a weird feeling in the back of your mind. It's silly, but he had a really similar typing pattern that...You sigh. No, it'd be way too coincidental. The world is funny, but it's not that funny. No way could it be the same person. Just because he has a similar texting style doesn't mean a thing -- lots of people text the same way anyway, Internet culture and such. You type in all lowercase and in run-on sentences too. You're just fantasizing. You try not to think about it too much, greatly looking forward to a restful night's sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i knew my cam girl experience was gonna be good fodder for something someday


End file.
